“You really think there are any secrets between us after you saw me naked on Islehaven?”
“I only saw your clavicles!” Her cheeks heated.
His lips quirked as if to suppress laughter and she had the impression she’d reacted to his question just the way he’d hoped.
“Please stay and help me translate this legalese.” He patted his lap. “You can sit here.”
“Absolutely not.”
“To staying or sitting here?”
“Sitting there.”
“Your loss.”
They worked together to understand the meaning of his will. Essentially, he’d specified that upon his death a charity called Global Citizen should receive two million dollars and someone named Anton Quintrell should receive two million. A lot of stipulations followed about what was to happen with the money he’d received from the Camden family trust. Finally, his mother, Jude, and Max should split the remaining (largest share) of his assets.
They continued through the rest of the cabinets, then moved on to other downstairs rooms. They opened every drawer, looked in every container in every closet.
Nothing about the interior of the house made her think Jeremiah or Alexis had furnished it themselves. It smacked of professionals who’d mastered the art of design and organization. He had everything a man his age could want, grouped together in logical and practical ways.
However, the whole thing felt . . . highly impersonal.
She skated her fingertips along a bookcase shelf in his library. Difficult to imagine paying for hardbacks when paperbacks were so much cheaper, yet all Jeremiah’s books were hardbacks. In addition to hundreds of books, the shelves held decorative objects and framed photos.
The photos provided a fascinating glimpse into his former life. Jeremiah traveling in exotic places. Jeremiah surrounded by people in the colorful matching uniforms of his racing team. Jeremiah with trophies and race cars. Family photos old and new. Photos of him with friends. “Does it strike you as strange that Alexis isn’t in any of these pictures?” she asked.
“It does strike me as strange.”
“How many of the downstairs rooms have we searched so far?”
“About half.”
Good grief. Tiredness was gnawing on her because she’d spent most of the day attacking the chaos of Wendell’s house. As soon as they finished this room, she’d call it a night. “Are the photos of you and Alexis grouped together somewhere else?”
“No. I’ve been in every room. I haven’t seen a picture of her anywhere.”
Turning toward him, she found him so close that their eye contact caused her heart to thump, then pick up speed. She cleared her throat. “D—do you think you put away pictures of her because they caused you too much pain?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s probably why you did it. When I was sixteen, our wonderful family dog, Buttercup, passed away. We had to put his bed and bowl and toys in a box in the garage because it was too painful for us to see them. Not that I’m comparing the magnitude of your loss to ours.”
“Huh.”
“I mean . . . you wouldn’t have spent time investigating Alexis's death if you didn’t deeply love her.”
His scrutiny of her didn’t waver. “I don’t know what it was that drove me to investigate Alexis’s death. I don’t know how I felt about her or why there’s no pictures of her here. I only know that she’s not here now. That she’s been gone for quite a while. And that she isn’t coming back.”
“Yes, but it’s important to honor the fact that Alexis still owns your heart. Soon, you’ll remember your grief.”
And as soon as that happened, he’d revert to being Jeremiah 1.0 who had loved and married Alexis.
ChapterEleven
“Remy?” In the middle of that night Jeremiah started speaking her name sleeping and finished the syllables waking. “Remy?” he repeated, hopeful even though clarity was returning, and he was realizing he was in his big house in Groomsport—a place where she was not.
Only quiet reached his ears.
